


the one i love

by beastlyboop



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Hand Job, No Condoms Allowed, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Smut, Some Fluff, Spitroasting, Swallowing, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, gender-neutral dfab reader, happy reunions, post-series finale, request, stanwich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 22:14:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11344158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beastlyboop/pseuds/beastlyboop
Summary: In the chill morning air with the mist rolling off of the water, having not slept the night before and now swaying between sleep and awake, you watch the sun rise over the bay.The dock workers come and go as the ships arrive, and you remain vigilant, watching behind the rim of a weak cup of coffee for any two that look too much alike. You’re dead tired, tired in your bones, but still you wait. That’s what you’ve been doing. Waiting.It’s been almost a year since they left.





	the one i love

**Author's Note:**

> request was for established poly reader stanwich
> 
> [on tumblr](https://beastlybutts.tumblr.com/post/143716005435/the-one-i-love-grunkle-stan-x-reader-x-stanford)

In the chill morning air with the mist rolling off of the water, having not slept the night before and now swaying between sleep and awake, you watch the sun rise over the bay.

The dock workers come and go as the ships arrive, and you remain vigilant, watching behind the rim of a weak cup of coffee for any two that look too much alike. You’re dead tired, tired in your bones, but still you wait. That’s what you’ve been doing. Waiting.

It’s been almost a year since they left.

No, you didn’t go with them. You had too many things keeping you on land. And it was their time, anyway. You hadn’t wanted to get in the way of thirty years’ worth of backed up brotherly love. You stayed at the shack to help Soos and Melody out, now more than ever since they were expecting, and Soos does a great job as the new Mr. Mystery, of course. But every once in awhile you’ll catch a glimpse of a black suit and red fez out of the corner of your eye and, for a split second, get your hopes up.

Now you’re wrapped in several layers to keep warm but the sea air still manages to freeze your ears and the tip of your nose, your chattering teeth hidden behind a very bright and very well-made knitted scarf. Your hands grasp the edges of your jacket, pulling it in closer against the biting cold.

It’s the morning of the first day of summer.

The Stan O’ War II pulls into the dock just after sunrise, and you can finally breathe again, and you run to greet the first twin off the boat. It’s harder to tell them apart, now, both bearded and tanned by the sun, but it’s the twelve fingers gripping your shoulders that tell you it’s Stanford Pines beaming down at you. He pulls you into an embrace and holds you against him, your own arms wrapped tightly around him, around his sturdy body, familiar and warm. You both try to ask each other questions at the same time – _How are you? How are the kids? What was it like?_ \- but when you end up speaking over each other you just laugh.

“And what about me, huh? Don’t I get a hug?”

You turn and Stan wraps his arms around your waist and you throw your arms around his shoulders, the both of you holding each other tight as if he might leave again at any moment, and he tells you how much he missed you. Ford brings you both back in for a hug and tells you how much _he_ missed you in one ear while Stanley tells you that _**he**_ missed you _just that much more_ in the other ear, and if you weren’t in tears before you are now, held between them, in their strong arms, now overheated by their warmth, your face red. You grab onto each of them as best you can. One wipes away your tears, kisses your cheek, and then the other, and your face is squished between the both of them, their stubbly cheeks and chins scratching you, and you can’t help but laugh.

Eventually the three of you make it back to the truck. They make busy tossing their sacks of dirty clothes and bags of wriggling things they assure you aren’t dangerous into the back and then climb into the cab with you squished into the middle between them. You drove all night to the port so you take the time now to relax and enjoy the ride. Ford drives and you rest your head against Stanley’s shoulder as you leave the coast, each of your hands in one of theirs on your lap. The radio drones in the background as they recount their adventures over the past several months, and when they laugh you can’t help but join in, the way they tell it makes you feel like you were there with them. Your fingers curl between theirs and they hold them tight.

You find yourself lulled in and out of sleep by their voices, the motion of the car, the warmth and comfort you find sandwiched between them. You see an ocean of trees turn into small towns, the morning turn to afternoon. You stop for lunch and to stretch your legs and the three of you end up eating greasy burgers and drinking cold Pitt Cola’s sitting on the tailgate of the truck outside of a gas station.

The day turns to night and with the night comes a storm. Fat raindrops hit the windshield and transform it into a mosaic of blurry streetlights in waves, the windshield wipers doing their best to carve out a clear view but it’s ultimately too much to go on any further. It’s Ford’s idea to stop for the night and find a place to sleep, and you and Stan agree, eager to get off the road.

The motel you end up staying at boasts color cable TV and free coffee in pink capital letters on the sign out front, and the giant neon letters shining above that light up your room when the curtains are open. You keep the curtains closed.

While one twin showers you wait with the other and they both sneak kisses while the other is busy, making up for lost time while they have the opportunity. It’s not necessarily sexual in the way they touch you, but rather attempts to maintain contact, holding your hand, sitting close to you on the bed while you watch TV, a leg resting against your own while talking about what to order for dinner. A damp and fuzzy-looking Ford takes Stanley’s place on the bed while he goes to shower and you lean against his warm skin while he orders a pizza, and you can still smell the ocean even under the cheap complimentary hotel soap.

They tell you about all the creatures they’ve seen and fought while you eat and you end up almost spitting out your pepperoni laughing when they inevitably end up wrestling, reenacting their struggle against the giant land squid. Neither of them want to play the squid.

Stanford, having lost, gets to clean up.

You offer to help but when you stand from the bed you feel a pull at your shirt and are brought back down, your stomach flipping in the moment you’re falling, and when you land you’re laughing again, Stanley already there waiting for you. When he pulls you closer you wrap your arms around his shoulders and press your face into his chest. You kiss his neck, his jaw, and he sighs. You always loved that about him, about the both of them, their strong jawlines when the rest of them were so round and soft. The familiarity of it all is what gets you, how it feels like its been a day since they left, like nothing had changed at all, or as if you’ve been with them all along.

“I missed you,” you breathe, and he brings a hand up, against the back of your head, drawing you into a kiss, and you both hold each other there until the bed dips beneath Ford’s weight. You raise your head and as he brings himself in closer as you reach for him, and he catches you, bringing you in against his chest, and you have just enough time to take a breath before he kisses you, taking it away. Stretched out over the both of them you smile, feeling Stanley’s hands slide up under your shirt, Ford’s lips on your throat, his strong hands on your hips, twelve fingers making their way down the back of your pants.

Your hands move along his shoulders, along his throat, up to cup his cheeks, fingers sliding into his hair, combing through his wet locks. He presses his head up into your hands and you kiss his forehead, closing your eyes. You sigh his name, _Stanford,_ into his ear, both of his hands cupping your ass. With Stanley’s hands on your chest you grind against his thigh but soon enough find it gone, the man having slipped out from beneath you and taken a spot behind you instead.

You eagerly help them both undress you, raising your arms as they slide your shirt off and toss it away, shifting from one knee to the other as they help you shimmy out of your pants. Ford takes a seat at the head of the bed and you press yourself to him, lips on his collarbone, Stanley’s hands holding your hips as he grinds against you, two fingers slipping into your underwear. Your own hands make their way down Ford’s chest, over the soft pudge of his stomach and down to his boxers, where his cock strains against the thin material, and when you pull it out it’s warm and hard in your hand.

You and Ford groan in unison as you hold him in your fist, Stan sliding a finger inside of you, and eventually you all fall into the same rhythm. You rock your hips back against Stan’s as Ford rolls his hips up into your hand, one of his hands gripping your shoulder, the other on his face, pushing up his glasses, running into his hair. As you jerk him off you keep your eyes on his face, as it grows red, his mouth hanging open, and you smile when he bites his fist, your own panting breath rolling out against his chest.

You look back when you feel Stan’s fingers leave you, catching his grin as he positions his own cock between your thighs, moving it against your lips. He keeps one hand on your back and you press yourself against him until he’s inside you, until you can feel the size of him filling you again, the old familiar feeling, and you groan as he grips your thighs and thrusts up into you.

When you finally take Ford into your mouth he places a hand on the back of your head and curls his fingers in your hair, guiding your head down until your lips press against the soft hair at his groin. You pull back up, eyes closed now, listening to the both of them moan your name at either end of you, tasting the salty precum on your tongue, on your lips. Stan bends over you, against your back, pressing you down, his breath and your name spilled out against your back, his hand reaching between your legs, calloused fingers finding your sensitive clit. You steady yourself with both hands on Ford’s thighs, and between one twin holding your head down and the other thrusting into you, your body is heavy and hazy with feeling. The sounds you’re all making are enough to drive you forward, the wet slapping of skin on skin, their whines and moans, your wet tongue on Ford’s cock.

When Ford cums he holds your head down as he bucks up against it and he fills your mouth but you swallow it all, and when you pull back up to stare at him he smiles his lopsided smile and cups your face, and with his glasses hanging half off and his hair a mess, he pulls you forward and kisses you deeply. Your own orgasm draws out Stan’s and he thrusts against your hips needily as you groan into Ford’s mouth, hands grasping at his shoulders as he holds you up against him, and you break the kiss as you gasp, panting, _**fuck,** oh my god,_ against his neck. Stan slows and, groaning against your back, comes to a stop and just stays there for a while, his hot breath against your skin.

When he pulls out and you both fall back to the bed, you rest your head against Ford’s knee, his hand running through your hair. You could almost fall asleep like that.

x

When you clean up and do end up crawling back into bed between them, they wrap their arms around you and squeeze in close, sandwiching you between them. In the dark of the night, laying between their sturdy bodies, surrounded by their warmth, you fall into a deep sleep. Sometime hours later you wake up, as you always do when you get too hot during the night, and with two large space heaters on either side of you it’s no surprise when it happens. But the warmth is comforting rather than suffocating, and when you wake to find their arms still wrapped around you, you draw yourself farther into the embrace, your back against Ford’s chest, Stan in front of you with his head under your chin.

The soft pink neon light slips in above the curtains and blinks on and off against the ceiling and you watch it for a minute, then close your eyes, feeling yourself being pulled back into sleep. Ford’s arms coil tighter around you and you smile, and you don’t know if he knows you’re awake when he tells you that he loves you.

“I love you too,” you whisper, and he presses his lips against the back of your neck. You both fall back asleep like that.

x

That morning the sky is clear. You sit out on the patio with Ford at a table with an umbrella, the both of you silent as you watch the large white clouds float by. Your hand in his rests on the tabletop.

Stan walks up behind you and sets three cups of coffee on the table, leaning down to kiss your cheek.

“I love ya too, you know that?”

You smile as you watch him take his seat, taking his hand.

“I love you, Stan.”

You can live without them, but you prefer not to. Their love fills you with warmth and energy and like the Earth thawing after a long winter, they make you feel alive. Their presence, their love, it keeps you going. You squeeze their hands, laughing.

“How am I supposed to drink my coffee like this?”


End file.
